


the heart may freeze, or it can burn

by bitterdrake



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Humor, Hunk & Lance (Voltron) Friendship, Keith & Pidge | Katie Holt Friendship, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Rent References, hunk and pidge got their own shit goin on but are here for the ride, keith is an angsty little english literature nerd, lance and allura are theatre majors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-23 20:33:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21326260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitterdrake/pseuds/bitterdrake
Summary: “I told you, like, a hundred times, I don’t go to frat parties.”“It’s a cast party, Pidge. It just so happens that it’s held at The Zig.”“You should go,” Keith smiled at them, trying to hide his frustration with Lance. “You deserve to let loose a bit.”Pidge grinned, a snarky little grin that Keith only experienced when something bad was about to happen to him. “I’ll go if you go.”---Keith and Lance start off on the wrong foot after Lance's performance as Angel Dumott Schunard in their university's production of Rent the Musical.
Relationships: Hunk/Shay (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	1. darling, be a dear

**Author's Note:**

> ahhh i can't believe i'm actually writing fanfiction this is so exciting but scary??  
i hope i do it justice!!

In 1993,  _ Seasons of Love  _ was composed and written by Jonathan Larson, arguably one of the most prolific show tunes to ever grace Musical Theatre. An ostinato piano motif introduces a slew of lovey-dovey, nostalgic, poignant lyrics: “Five hundred- twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes.” The number of minutes in a year. Pianos, guitars, organs, bass, and drums ring harmoniously behind the veil of heavenly vocals. Every person involved in musical theatre knows the song by heart, guaranteed. The message: love is not quantifiable. There’s no proper way to quantify the value of a year in a human’s life, which finalizes the chorus’s last heed to measure these years by love alone. 

Keith, who has heard this song maybe a thousand times and counting, received the opposite message. If anything could make him hate love more than he already does, it would be this Godforsaken song. “Pidge, seriously, if I hear it one more time, I’m requesting a new roommate.”

Pidge, who had been stress humming Seasons of Love for the past thirty minutes, hadn’t seemed to have realized it. They were so wrapped up in some computer code (that Keith wouldn’t be able to explain if you put a gun to his head). Pidge either ignored him, as they often do, or was too buried in their work to do anything about it.

“Pidge!”

Their head jerked back to the boy at his desk. “Oh. Sorry. But I can’t promise it won’t slip out, so you’ll just have to deal.”

With a tired groan Keith leaned back in his chair, drawing his eyes from the mass of Shakespearan text glowing from his laptop in front of him to the back of Pidge’s scruffy head. “And you wonder why I pull allnighters.” 

Pidge sighed quietly and swiveled in their chair to face him. “Listen, I understand forgetting to do shit last minute, but your schedule is seriously unhealthy. I won’t even ask if I should be worried because  _ I already am _ .” 

“Save it for the show.” 

“Don’t even touch the subject.”

Right then was the first time he’d seen Pidge in almost two days. If it hadn’t been for Hunk’s dangerously effective persuasion skills, they would not be in this situation, so really it’s all Hunk’s fault, the way Keith sees it. Their school’s production of  _ Rent  _ kicks off this week, and as the sound tech Pidge has been all too immersed in a metric ton of responsibilities. Hunk must have wormed his way into Pidge’s psyche in order to convince them to take on such a huge task. Keith won’t pretend he has the slightest clue as to what goes into a production that big- the theatre department was the largest club on campus- but he knew it must have been hellish, given the over-extended rehearsal time each night leading up to the show. Taking a page out of Keith’s book, Pidge scarcely keeps up with their coursework nowadays. 

Keith, however, narrowly avoided Hunk’s guilt trips with an icy cold demeanor. It wasn’t often that Keith denied Hunk anything, but the request to audition for a  _ musical  _ was way too much for Keith to handle, as if asking him to pledge for Phi Delta Alpha wasn’t enough. Save for Pidge and Allura, Keith was the only one of the friend group who refused to give in to the fraternity. He insisted that quiet English Literature majors don’t belong in “The Zig,” as they called it, due to the fraternity’s history of outlandish partying. A year prior, the fraternity was almost derecognized from the university. Keith could not fathom why Hunk, Shiro, and Matt were so loyal to a society of such little academic integrity, but it seemed as though the frat was slowly climbing the ranks. Family lineage would be the only explanation, but as Shiro’s adopted brother it just didn’t make sense for Keith to join. It was Shiro’s job to carry out the family legacy. Keith would be rooting for him on the sidelines. 

Pidge once again redirected their attention from their computer screen to Keith’s thoroughly messed up hair. “You’re still coming closing night, right?”

“I think I’d be found dead in a ditch if I missed it.” 

“If Hunk was capable of murdering you.”

Keith let out a curt “ha!” “It’s not Hunk I’m worried about. I know Shiro would rip me a new one for letting my friend down. That, and missing Allura’s theatre debut.” 

“Good point.”

And so, after a long week of research paper preparation, sleepless nights, and the Case of the Missing Pidge, Saturday night rolled around and Keith deadpanning his mirror. His fingers gripped the hangers of a black collared tee and the other a suit jacket. He scrunched up his face at his reflection, unsatisfied. What are you supposed to wear to a college production? He’d texted Hunk and Pidge to no avail. Shiro was also playing ghost, and though they were on supposedly good terms, he just couldn’t bring himself to text Matt. 

With a defeated sigh, Keith said “Fuck it” and went with the tee to avoid looking like a stupidly overdressed tool. Who was he trying to impress anyway? He was as close to his friends as he could possibly be; from being dragged home wasted to sobbing in the center of a hug circle, they’ve all seen how much of a mess he was under the calm, cool, and collected exterior. 

Shiro was supposed to meet Keith outside of his door twenty minutes ago. Keith pursed his lips against the cold October breeze, arms donned in a leather jacket and crossed to conjure as much heat as possible. He sent about seven annoyed, unread texts to Shiro, each one getting more urgent as his anxiety about being late picked up. No way was he going alone, but at this rate, they’d make it just in time for the opener. 

Just then, Keith spotted a tall figure jogging his way. “Look who decided to show up.” 

Shiro, out of breath, reached back to push his fringe out of his face. He was a lot more sharply dressed than Keith. “I’m sorry, I was tutoring Matt and lost track time.”

“And you couldn’t send me a text?”

“I figured I could make it over here quick enough.” 

Keith huffed and turned to the direction of the theatre, no longer waiting for Shiro to catch up. “Just barely. You’re the one so set on going.”

“Chew me out later, we gotta go.” 

The two hurried off to the theatre school in a light jog, making record time just as the ushers were about to close the doors. 

Keith settled into red cushioned seats that smelled of sweat and paint next to Shiro, surrounded by scuffed walls and blinding stage lights. The auditorium sure got its fair share of love; it seemed a bit run-down, likely due to the huge number of theatre students using it for rehearsals. 

He had to hold back a groan at the opening scene;  _ Seasons of Love _ dug into his ears like a knife, despite how beautiful the harmonies were. It definitely beat Pidge’s hummed rendition. He could hear Allura’s voice as Mimi Marquez stand out among them. 

Though Keith would nine out of ten times snap “no” if you asked him to attend a musical, the notion of show’s message of rebelling against capitalism was really appealing. He didn’t mind the cheesiness. 

Dust is brushed off the stage by the grips’ Vans and Nikes for the next scene, wafting under fluorescent lights so much so that the specks seemed larger than the crew. Though he didn’t mind the performance so far, he wished he had the time to go back to his dorm and revise his essay’s outline instead of staying up until dawn working on it. That’s what he wanted, until… 

“ _ A new member of Alphabet City avant garde… Angel Dumott Schunard! _ ” 

From the side of the stage, a tall figure clad in a skimpy Santa costume and impossibly high boots twirled out, a shiny black wig swishing from side to side. “ _ Today for you, tomorrow for me! _ ”

Their voice reverberated through the entire auditorium, a sweet, lilting tenor. Keith couldn’t help but widen his eyes during the scene. The way the person commanded the stage was completely alluring; if difficult sequence of lyrics wasn’t impressive enough, they pulled out drumsticks and started a drum solo, drumming on different parts of the stage and perfectly in sync with the music. The chemistry between them and the other actors was tangible. Despite the fact that the song was about killing a dog, Keith was entirely enraptured. 

Allura absolutely killed it as Mimi Marquez, but Angel’s performance was all Keith could think about for most of the show. That is, until Angel’s death scene. He was not one to cry at much of anything- save the few breakdowns he’d had in front of Pidge- and especially not at any sort of media whatsoever. Much to his surprise, he blinked as a tear rolled down his cheek during the funeral scene. 

“Are you crying?” Shiro leaned over and whispered, a small grin tugging at his mouth.

“No,” Keith responded hastily, but to his dismay Shiro let out a quiet chuckle.  _ Fuck.  _

The rest of the show went on without a hitch. Immediately there was a standing ovation, to which Keith and Shiro happily obliged. 

“That was amazing,” Shiro said. 

Keith granted him a glance once the person who played Angel sauntered off stage. “It was pretty good.” 

“I can’t believe you cried.”

“I had something in my eye!”

Then Hunk, Pidge, and the rest of the stage crew came out for their applause. Shiro whistled, Keith clapped with a huge grin on his face. “They’re meeting us in the lobby,” Shiro said, and the two navigated their way through the bustling crowd and out into the lobby, next to the doors where the actors would come out. Pidge was the first one out.

“Hey guys!” they greeted, the happiest Keith had seen them in a month. “Whaddya think?”

Shiro grinned back. “That was awesome.”

“Almost worth all the times you’ve hummed that damn song,” Keith admitted, tucking his hands into his pockets. 

“I’ll take it.” 

“Where’s Hunk?” Keith inquired, squinting against the crowd. He hadn’t seen his friend in almost two weeks due to the production’s demanding schedule. 

“He stayed back to wait for his friend to get dressed. He wants to introduce him to us.”

Keith’s eyebrow cocked. He thought he knew all of Hunk’s friends, but he supposed there were still some guys in the frat he wasn’t well acquainted with. But he never thought one of those frat guys would involve themselves in a musical production of  _ Rent _ . “Do you know him?” 

“Yeah, and let me tell you he’s a fuckin’ trip. Diva extraordinaire. Drove me crazy during tech week.” 

_ Color me curious.  _

As if on cue, Hunk came bumbling out of the stage doors, bombarded by patrons congratulating him on making it to closing night. He caught Keith’s eye and barreled through the crowd. “Hey, guys!” 

He was holding the hand of  _ the  _ Angel Dumott Schunard. Keith’s breath hitched in his throat. 

“Did you like it?” It was alarming how nonchalant Hunk was to be holding hands with the undebatable star of the show. Keith couldn’t help but stare at the man in front of him. 

“It was incredible, Hunk,” Shiro gave him a clap on the shoulder with a widespread smile. Keith’s eyes darted from Angel to Hunk and then back to Angel, who cleared their throat rather loudly. 

“Oh, right.” This was the most flustered Keith had seen Hunk since finals week last year, but he supposed it was more than warranted under the circumstances. Hunk gestured to his friend. “This is my buddy Lance! He played Angel.” 

Lance and Keith locked eyes. The former was undeniably gorgeous. His tanned skin showed through the heavy stage makeup, which seemed to glow through the sweat sitting in beads across his forehead. Bright blue eyes peeked out from behind black eyeliner and mascara, and shiny red lipstick was smeared across his face, matching the kiss marks scattered on his cheeks. Seemed as though he was more than popular. 

Lance’s gaze lingered on Keith for a moment before Hunk introduced them. “This is Shiro, and this is his brother Keith. Keith’s the same year as us, Shiro’s a graduate student. He was the president of The Zig a few years back.” 

“Oh, shit, no way!” Lance shook Shiro’s hand earnestly. “Pleasure to meet royalty.” 

So, Lance was in Phi Delta Alpha, too. That sure shattered the stereotypical image that Keith had of frat boys. 

Lance then turned to Keith. “And you’re the guy Hunk’s told me so much about. English Literature major, right?” 

Keith was starstruck. Realizing that people outside of your own body  _ know  _ you and talk about you when you’re not listening… well, Keith never dealt with that very well. But the fact that Hunk talked about him to Lance-

“Uh, yeah, that’s me,” he managed to stammer, shaking Lance’s hand. The latter looked at him up and down.

Lance cocked an eyebrow. “You sure dressed for the occasion.” 

Keith’s eyes widened, cheeks flushing. How was he supposed to know what to wear to something like this? Shiro didn’t say anything.  _ Fake.  _

“Lance, chill out,” Hunk tried to mediate. “I don’t think Keith’s ever been to a musical in his life. Hell, it was pulling teeth just to get him to come out here.”

Lance shrugged, unbothered, before addressing Keith again. “You’re missing out.”

“Clearly,” he said through gritted teeth. Any notion of admiration he had for Lance was gone. Out the window. Pidge, who had been eerily quiet during this entire exchange, seemed to take notice. “Come on, Keith, I know you have a big paper due. Let’s go back.” 

“What?” Lance whined, tugging on Pidge’s shirt. “There’s still the after party!” 

“I told you, like, a hundred times, I don’t go to frat parties.” 

“It’s a  _ cast  _ party, Pidge. It just so happens that it’s held at The Zig.” 

“You should go,” Keith smiled at them, trying to hide his frustration with Lance. “You deserve to let loose a bit.” 

Pidge grinned, a snarky little grin that Keith only experienced when something bad was about to happen to him. “I’ll go if you go.” 

Keith’s eyes widen just as Allura, his saving grace, makes her way over to the group, arms filled with a myriad of flowers- roses, carnations, tulips. She had barely made it out into the lobby. Lance planted a kiss on her cheek. “You were awesome in  _ Out Tonight _ . Stole the show.” 

“That’s you, babe.” Allura poked his shoulder. She, too, seemed to glow under all of the sweat, but Allura always glows. She exchanged greetings and hugs with the rest of them, but Keith was all too aware of Lance’s presence to give Allura a proper congratulations. He itched to go back to his dorm and forget the entire interaction. 

“So, the cast party?” Allura proposed, looking at Keith expectantly. “I’d be so disappointed if anyone of you didn’t come.”

Pidge nudged Keith, who in turn shot them a scowl. As hard as it was saying no to Hunk, it was even harder with Allura. Her doe eyes won Keith over just about every time- it seemed his backbone was getting thinner and thinner. 

“We’re all going,” Pidge insisted. 

“I’ll stay for an hour,” Keith relented, “but I do need to finish this paper.” The Zig was only across the Quad, so making a quick getaway wouldn’t be hard. 

“Then let’s go!” Lance grabbed both Hunk and Allura’s hand. “Let’s see if we can get this stick out of Keith’s ass.” 


	2. got a light?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So,” Hunk spoke with tendrils of smoke slipping out of his mouth and into the cold night. Keith never understood how he did that- any time he tried to speak while smoking, he ended up trapped in violent coughing fits. “You’re the barista boy Lance has been talking my ear off about for the last few weeks.”  
Keith furrowed his brow. “I’m the what?”   
“The barista boy,” Hunk continued, unfazed, “you served him coffee once and he never went back.”   
“Oh.” Keith’s buzz was killed. “Did he not like it?”  
\---  
Keith gets a bit too inebriated to understand the reality of the situation: Neither Lance nor Keith know how to properly function around each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> really can't believe i got another chapter up so quickly go me  
anyways this is just a chapter of everybody making bad decisions

Keith was only five minutes into the party before he felt the overwhelming urge to  _ go the fuck home. _

The house was enormous from the outside but even bigger on the inside. He’d been there before when he would visit Shiro in college, but he never really considered just how many people could fit inside. He’d estimate about a hundred or so people, probably the biggest crowd he’s ever voluntarily put himself in. And, holy shit, was that a mistake. 

Hunk and Lance disappeared into thin air almost immediately after entering while Allura and Shiro went to fix themselves some drinks, leaving Keith and Pidge to their own devices. They stood there for a moment, taking in the atmosphere. The party was packed to the brim, each person yelling over each other just to have a conversation. Beer cans were already being thrown into the air; Keith narrowly dodged one and watched it splatter against the wall. Judging by the state of the house, this wasn’t the first time this had happened. Weird patterns stained the walls and floorboards, some of which looked like wine stains and others were indistinguishable entirely. 

All Keith could think about was how he needed to finish his research proposal and abstract on  _ Coriolanus _ , which, to be fair, wasn’t due for another three days, but still- 

“Jello shots?” 

Pidge suddenly appeared with a tray of them, an array of blue, red, and yellow. Keith’s eyes widened, as he hadn’t even realized they had left his side. “Where did you get those?” he had to yell over the noise- you couldn’t even hear the music anymore, there were so many people talking and yelling and screaming. 

“The fridge,” they shouted back, as if it were totally normal to go through someone’s fridge. “They’re Hunk’s, he told me about them yesterday.” 

“I really shouldn’t,” Keith insisted. He hadn’t even wanted to go to this party anyway, let alone allow himself to get inebriated. Not exactly the heaviest weight, there had been one too many nights where Pidge had to haul ass to get him into bed. Every time he thought he knew his limits, he’d go and push them, and that is precisely not what he needed tonight. 

His eyes scanned the crowd to find Shiro again, but Allura had disappeared and instead by his side was Pidge’s brother. Matt.  _ The  _ Matt Holt. Keith felt something in his stomach twist and his eyebrows narrow unceremoniously. Pidge seemed to notice and followed his gaze, drawing a sharp hiss between their teeth. “Ouch.”

“I didn’t know Matt would be here,” Keith’s voice trailed off, so much so that Pidge almost didn’t hear him. 

Here were his options: Go back to his dorm, feeling very unfulfilled and nostalgic about a toxic relationship that ended months ago, or get fucked up and have some fun. Keith snatched a jello shot from the tray, swirled his finger around the cup, and shot it straight down his throat. He did the same with another one. And another one.

“Jesus, dude, calm down,” Pidge said, returning the tray to the freezer after taking a two shots of their own. Keith could feel the warmth hit his chest immediately. 

“Were these made with rubbing alcohol?” He coughed lightly and scrunched up his face in a suave attempt to cover up the burning in his throat. 

“They’re not that strong, you’re just a baby.” 

“Shut up.” 

Another beer can just barely missed Pidge’s head, but they were more focused on Hunk, who was standing on a chair and yelling, “I’m gonna chug a bottle of Vlad!” 

The pair blinked at him from across the room before shooting each other incredulous looks. 

“I think that’s our cue to go upstairs,” Pidge suggested.

“Please.”

The second Keith’s foot hit the bottom step he knew he was tipsy, borderline drunk. Before they ascended, Pidge grabbed a bottle of ros é and skipped up the stairs ahead of him. The two shortly found themselves settled on the futon in Hunk’s room, passing the bottle back and forth. 

“So, you’re still not over it.” 

Keith let out a sharp and annoyed exhale, rubbing his temples. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“You never do.”

“Yeah, for a fucking reason, Pidge,” he snapped, promptly realizing how uncalled for his outburst was. “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” they reassured before taking another swig of  ros é. “Matt doesn’t want to talk about it either. Some shit must have gone down, huh?”

“Kind of. Anyway, let’s talk about something else. I’m drunk and ready to be entertained.”

“Wanna go downstairs?”

Keith groaned, throwing his head back against the futon. “There’s so many people.”

A pair of heavy footsteps bounded against the stairs to reveal Hunk poking his head into the room. “Though I might find you guys in here. We’re doing shots!” 

Pidge waved him off, gesturing to the bottle in their hand. “We’re good.” 

“Speak for yourself,” Keith countered with a grin, somehow pulling himself off of the couch. 

“Keith, if I have to hold your hair back while you vomit again, I swear to God-” 

But Keith had already made up his mind and followed Hunk down the stairs, idiotically smiling at the idea of being so gone he forgets his name. Seeing Matt’s face shouldn’t have warranted the reaction that it did, but absence does make the heart grow fonder. And Keith was ready to forget that he had a heart. 

There was already a small crowd around the table of shots, and from a quick glance Keith recognized a new bottle of Vlad that Hunk somehow procured.  _ Christ.  _ It was horribly cheap vodka that no one in their right mind would shoot back, but it hardly seemed like anyone here was in their right mind. Surely not Keith.

Even more people were crowding around the table, itching to become a part of the shit show. By some evil twist of fate, Keith found himself pushed up against Lance, who hardly seemed to notice he was there. And still, Keith somehow couldn’t take his eyes off of him. He’d removed the heavy stage makeup to reveal a perfect complexion, eyes swimming and full lips pulled back into a smile.

Suddenly, Lance met his eyes. “Oh my God, Keith!” He threw an arm around him, drunkenly falling into him before Keith pushed him back up. “I thought you had left already. You’re doing shots?”

“To not paying rent!” Hunk held his shot glass in the air. A chorus of “We’re not gonna pa-ay last year’s rent!” rung throughout the crowd, completely engulfing any conversation that took place beforehand. Keith just barely managed to grab his own shot glass before shooting it down and trying to ignore the raging burn in his throat. Theatre kids were really something else. 

Lance still had his arm around Keith, the grip on his shoulder getting tighter. “Good on you, man,” he mumbled, though loudly, “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“You have no idea who I am,” Keith said, raising his voice above the chatter. 

“Let’s change that!” 

Keith could feel the heat in his chest rush to his face. Instead of responding, he simply let Lance become lost in the crowd and made his way up the stairs, nearly falling a few times but catching himself on the railing. He stumbled into Hunk’s room to find Pidge scrolling through Twitter, the bottle of  ros é almost empty. 

“Come downstairs.” His words were slurred together, but a smile still hung from his face. Pidge chugged the last of the  ros é and got up without a word. They threw Keith’s arm around their shoulders before descending. “Okay, big guy, we can do this together.”

“Stairs are hard,” Keith muttered. “But I’m not that drunk, I can do it.”

“Better safe than sorry.” 

They managed to make it down the stairs in one piece, and not one minute had gone by until Shiro shouted across the room. “Keith! Pidge!”

Keith had no idea how he navigated his way through the bustling crowd and over to Shiro, who was accompanied by Hunk and Lance. Shiro grinned, but not in a friendly way- Keith knew something was up. 

“We were just talking about you,” Shiro said, turning to Lance and laughing.

“I heard you cried at my death, dude.” Lance’s words were also slurred, but he still managed to articulate the sentence somehow. 

Keith, horribly embarrassed, crossed his arms and tried not to pout. Put some alcohol in him and all of a sudden he’s a toddler. “It was an emotional scene, in my defense.” 

“No!” Lance exclaimed, pulling Keith into a quick hug. “It’s a compliment! That just reaffirms that I am amazing at what I do.” 

Keith didn’t get a chance to respond to Lance’s insufferable ego before Hunk offered, “We’re gonna go smoke outside if you want to join us.” 

Pidge shot Keith a look. A  _ don’t you dare do it you idiot  _ look, which he completely disregarded. “Sure.”

“I’ll pass,” Shiro said, scanning the crowd. “I should probably make sure Allura’s okay before I leave.”

“Good plan,” Lance said, “but it’s kind of lame of you to leave so early.” 

“Cheers, thespians.” Shiro essentially signed off on the conversation and once again became lost in the herd of people.

“Me too.” Pidge looked a bit dizzy, probably way overworked from show week. “I’m gonna go lie down.” 

“I’m gonna help you up the stairs. I’ll be down soon.” And just like that, Lance disappeared, leaving Keith and Hunk with nothing but a bowl and a lighter. Hunk shrugged and led Keith to the porch. 

“So,” Hunk began, packing the weed tighter into the bowl with the edge of his lighter, “I have some insider information for you.” 

“You do?” Keith couldn’t possibly imagine what that could mean. How much had happened between the show and now? All he’d done was get drunk and talk to Pidge, but it seemed like Hunk already had an array of stories to tell in the future. That, and the inebriation didn’t seem to affect him too much. Hunk swayed a bit, but other than that he was completely in control. 

Hunk grunted in a laugh, lighting the bowl and taking a long hit. He passed it to Keith. “Hurry, before it goes out.” 

Keith took a small hit, letting the hot smoke fill his lungs in order to counteract the alcoholic burn in his throat, reminding him of how much he preferred weed over alcohol. A sense of familiar tingling pricked at his ears and fingers. 

“So,” Hunk spoke with tendrils of smoke slipping out of his mouth and into the cold night. Keith never understood how he did that- any time he tried to speak while smoking, he ended up trapped in violent coughing fits. “You’re the barista boy Lance has been talking my ear off about for the last few weeks.”

Keith furrowed his brow. “I’m the what?” 

“ _ The  _ barista boy,” Hunk continued, unfazed, “you served him coffee once and he never went back.” 

“Oh.” Keith’s buzz was killed. “Did he not like it?”

“No, you idiot, he loved it!” Hunk’s face turned pale as he tried to hold in his inhale, but instead exhaled in a series of coughs. “He was way too nervous to talk to you, despite how many times I told him to get his head out of his ass.” 

“Why?”

“Christ,” Hunk mumbled, “You two are hopeless.” 

Just then, Lance came bumbling out of the front door, looking especially irritated. “Gimme that.” He snatched the bowl out of Hunk’s hands and took way too big of a hit for someone as lanky as he was. 

“Whoa,” Hunk said, “What happened?” 

“Pidge being Pidge,” he growled, letting out a puff of smoke. 

“Care to expand?”

“No.” But it seemed as though that wasn’t true. “If I thought they were a demon when they were sober, they’re an absolute imp when they’re drunk.”

“I know the feeling,” Keith confirmed. 

Lance passed the bowl to him. “I don’t know how you live together.” 

Hunk reached out to give Keith the lighter, but Keith ignored him. “Hey, they can be uptight, but they’re really cool. And a good person.” 

Lance threw his hands up in his defense. “No, no, I believe you, we just… got off on the wrong foot.”

“Sounds familiar,” Hunk commented before taking the unlit bowl from Keith. Lance shoots Hunk a disturbed glance. There was an unspoken tension in the air, something that seemed like some underlying annoyance haven’t been dealt with yet. That’s one thing Keith appreciated about Pidge- complete transparency. When something bothered them, they’d be sure to let Keith know about it, and vice versa. This method prevented countless fights, but he supposed not everyone could stomach it. 

“I thought we were gonna smoke, not attack Lance.” Lance was on the defensive now, and by the way he referred to himself in the third person, Keith couldn’t help but cover a laugh with his hand.

“Oh, yeah, very funny, Keith,” Lance groaned, reaching again for Hunk’s bowl. “I need this right now.” 

“Keep it.” Hunk turned towards the door, not so much as bothering to look back at them. “I’m going back inside.” 

There was a moment of indescribable silence between Keith and Lance, both of them staring at each other in intrigue. This was the first time they’d actually met without the influence of their evocative friends. Keith tore his gaze away from him and instead focused on the night sky, the Quad rolling out in front of the house and swaying gently against the breeze. Each time the wind picked up Keith clutched his elbows, trying to savor all of the warmth he had underneath his leather jacket. He’d expected Lance to follow Hunk inside and was surprised to still feel his presence beside him. 

“How gone are you?”

Keith nearly jumped at the way Lance’s voice cut through the night’s silence like a freshly sharpened knife, but he was way too fucked up to react to something so quickly. He granted Lance one glance before planting his elbows on the porch’s railing. “Very.” The world seemed to sway a little bit, but the fact that it wasn’t spinning was promising. Keith’s thoughts all jumbled up on each other, interrupting trains of thought at the same time as focusing on keeping himself upright. That, and the fact that Lance was right beside him and did not intend on leaving any time soon. Keith’s heart rate picked up, and all of the warmth that had settled in his chest now flowed up to his face. He prayed the evening’s darkness didn’t give any of it away. 

“Me too,” Lance said quietly, gripping the railing and rolling onto his side to face Keith. “What are you thinking about?”

Keith looked at him in slight surprise. The fact that Lance was showing any interest in boring old Keith was shocking in and of itself, but it was quite rare for somebody to ask what was on his mind, because they generally knew that it was  _ too much.  _ Keith straightened up and let his hands hang over the railing, drawing his lip between his teeth in order to come up with something coherent. When in doubt, quote some pretentious poets. After drawing in a sharp breath between chattering teeth, he recited, “In my vertigo/ in my dizziness/ in my drunken haze/ whirling and dancing/ like a spinning wheel/ I saw myself/ as the source of existence.” 

Lance stared at him for a moment, face colored in intrigue. This faded quickly. 

To Keith’s annoyance, Lance let out a loud laugh that could be heard from across the Quad. He turned back to Keith and leaned in, arms settled into the nook of the railing. “That’s what’s on your mind right now? How did you even memorize that?”

If the coloring of Keith’s face wasn’t visible before, it was definitely apparent now. “It’s Rumi,” he snapped back, clearly irritated, “you know, the incredibly famous poet from the thirteenth century?” 

“Keith, I am a theatre major.” 

“Right.” 

“That’s kind of endearing, though,” Lance said quietly, looking down at his thumbs. “Do you memorize a lot of poetry?” 

“Sometimes,” Keith responded. The trees were still spinning a little bit. “I have some more. Maybe. I might not be sober enough.” 

“I, for one, am definitely  _ not. _ ” Lance turned fully to face Keith, shoulder resting on the handrail. “Which is why I have enough confidence to speak to you right now.” 

“What do you mean?”

Lance threw his hands up in the air, slamming them down on the hand rail with as much force as it took for Keith to take a step back. “I am  _ so  _ bad at this!” he exclaimed to the empty Quad. 

When it was obvious Lance wasn’t about to say anything else, Keith caught his attention with, “Hunk told me we met before.” 

A hint of panic danced in Lance’s eye for a split second before the cool exterior iced over. “Yeah, I got coffee from your work once.”

“Why didn’t you come back?”

“Would you believe me if I said it wasn’t good?”

Keith chuckled to himself. “No. The coffee I make is sublime.” 

“That’s true.” A long, listless silence stretched between the two of them, muffled trap music and yelling twenty-year-olds all too audible behind them. Keith glanced back at the door, wanting nothing more than to run out of the awkward tension, when he felt a hand on his forearm. His eyes flickered down to it, then back up to Lance. He wore a small, warm smile that pricked at something in Keith’s chest. 

“Do you wanna, maybe, get lunch sometime?” 

Keith stared at him for a moment, owl-eyed. Deer caught in headlights. The porch started spinning faster. 

Lance visibly winced and withdrew his hand, instead using it to scratch the back of his head. “Sorry, I know I’m fucked up right now and we got off on the wrong foot and all-”

Keith steadied himself on the railing, mind reeling, partially due to all of the drug consumption and partially due to the sudden change in situation. “Yeah, you insulted me the second we met.” 

“And I am sincerely sorry for that,” he said, to which Keith cocked a brow. Lance’s face softened, the corners of his mouth not quite as sharp. “I am, though. I stay stupid shit when I get nervous.” 

_ Nervous?  _ In his own eyes, Keith was the least intimidating person probably on planet Earth. Sure, he wore all black, drove a motorcycle, and worked out almost everyday like the douchebag he is, but he also memorizes poetry  _ for fun.  _ He reads research essays on the psychosis of Hamlet  _ for fun.  _ He was the absolute biggest nerd he knew; always awkward around other people, quiet because he doesn’t know what to say, and withdrawn because of, well, trust issues. Baggage. He had a whole lot of that. 

“Why were you nervous?” Keith asked, with genuine curiosity. 

“Why was I-” Lance cut himself off, pinching the bridge of his nose (though he missed at first). “Hunk was right. You’re more clueless than I am.” Lance pushed himself up from the support of the railing and stuck his hand out. “Give me your phone.” 

Keith tucked his hand in his pocket and gripped the phone tightly. “Why?” 

“Oh, my God, do I have to spell out everything?” What seemed like a rude thing to say was instead said with a charmed smile, one that just about won Keith over. “I’m giving you my number, dumbass.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the party's not over yet!


	3. you look familiar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pidge pinched the bridge of their nose. “Are you serious? Lance literally asked you out.”  
Keith rolled onto his side, tucking his arm beneath his chin. “He’s straight, Pidge. I can tell.”  
“You have the gaydar of a VSCO girl.”  
“Shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is gay asf lmao keith is really a Big Dumb and lance is hella awkward

Lance left Keith out on the porch very drunk, kind of high, and extremely confused. He’s had his fair share of boys- from hookups to year-long relationships- but none of them have ever given him mixed signals quite like this. He stared down at the number on his phone, the screen just a little too bright for comfort, to find that Lance fondly named his contact_ Angel <3_. Keith drew in a sharp breath, and not because of the cold.  
For a moment he entertained the idea. It had been six months since it ended, shouldn’t he be moving on? Lance was cute. No, more than that- Lance was absolutely gorgeous and godly talented and insufferably charming. Sickenly sweet. There was the way his fringe swept across his forehead, the ends just ticking thin but lengthy eyelashes, there was the one dimple on his left cheek that deepened every time he grinned, there was- well, there were a lot of things. Keith finding Lance attractive wasn’t really a debate, but was it a justified reason to get lunch? Would they even get along? Lance stepped on Keith’s toes twice already and definitely rubbed him the wrong way. If Lance was anybody but Lance, Keith would have disowned him from the friend group.  
And then there was the whole coffee ordeal. Maybe he was too drunk to fully grasp the situation, but it sounded like Lance had known him prior to this, albeit one brief encounter at Keith’s work. Making coffee for sleep deprived college students in the university library was such a demanding job that Keith essentially blocked out every customer’s face for his own emotional wellbeing. Not to say that he was a slapstick barista; on the contrary, Keith got the high paying job because of his inherent and inexplicable ability to whip up some of the most delicate drinks in record timing.  
Of course Lance was a customer. Every student is, eventually, and it’s rare that they don’t become regulars since it’s covered by most meal plans. So why did he never come back? Why didn’t he want to see him again? What the fuck was Hunk talking about?  
Was Keith overthinking this? Absolutely.  
No. No way was he going out anywhere with this guy. All of these thoughts amounted to inebriation and loneliness, two things that will come and go, though the latter seemed to stick around much longer. Keith really tried not to let it distract him. He had mountains of school work in addition to his job and intense workout regimen, so he was plenty busy and had no time for a distraction as enticing as Lance.  
Keith contemplated all of this while leaning over the railing of the porch, goosebumps grazing the fabric of his shirt. This leather jacket was doing nothing against the wind, which whipped up his hair across his cheeks. He attempted to brush it out of the way but missed entirely, letting out a huff of frustration. Getting this drunk was a mistake, one he would likely make again and again.  
The second Keith stepped back into the house, he was reminded of what pushed him to get so fucked up in the first place. Shiro and Lance stood against the kitchen sink, talking to Matt.  
Keith felt his stomach drop. Then he felt bile work its way up his throat. Rushing back outside, Keith manage to pull his hair back into a messy ponytail before emptying his guts over the side of the railing. Coughing, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and, once back in the house, hunted for a bathroom, making sure to look anywhere but the kitchen counter. Luckily, he remembered where one out of the four bathrooms were and ducked inside before a couple made their way in, slamming the door as they shouted at him for getting in their way. He couldn’t care less.  
After sticking his head under the sink and giving himself a thorough rinse, he planted his palms on either side of the counter and glared at his reflection. Dear God, was he a mess. Droplets of water plopped onto his jacket in beads, so he roughed up his hair in an attempt to dry just a little bit of it. He would find Pidge, then he would go the fuck home.  
Keith stumbled out of the bathroom and into the hallway, sticking out his palm to feel where the wall started. If the thudding of his heart beating didn’t drown out the diegetic noises of the party, his ragged breathing did. Thankfully, he was under enough influence to bog down a full blown panic attack, so he managed to work his way through the crowd, but Pidge was nowhere in sight. Leaning against the wall, Keith sank to the floor, pulled out his phone, and sent them a text. He rubbed his eyes and let his head fall back as his breathing slowed, and everything seemed to slow down a bit.  
“Keith!”  
The mess of a human being opened his eyes to see his saving grace. Pidge reached out a hand and helped him stagger to his feet. “Goddamn, you’re a wreck. What happened?”  
“Long story,” Keith barely spat out, too drunk and exhausted to hold a conversation.  
“Okay, yeah, we’re going home.”  
Pidge threw Keith’s arm around their shoulder again, a classic move that was used at almost every party they’ve been to together. Which was essentially every party, because Keith refused to go without Pidge and vice versa.  
“Shouldn’t we say goodbye to-” Keith could not ascertain whether or not his words were coming out as words or just sounds slurred together.  
“Nope. I know what state you’re in right now, and we’re going. We’ll talk to them later.”  
“Mmmkay.”  
Together they messily stepped over crushed beer cans and White Claws, finally making it to the front door and out from the porch.  
“Is so far,” Keith mumbled miserably.  
“We’re gonna do this,” Pidge insisted, and by now it was obvious that they were fairly under the influence as well.  
Somehow the two of them dragged their feet across the dips and curves of the Quad and made it back to their room in one piece. The second Keith stepped into his room, he barely managed to climb onto his lofted bed and collapsed like a sack of bricks.  
“Take your jacket off, at least,” Pidge said, hanging theirs up on their coat rack. Keith merely groaned in response. Having taken enough of his shit, Pidge stomped their way over to Keith’s bed and ripped the jacket off of him, his arms now bent in unnatural positions.  
“Pidge, what the fuck…”  
“This is for your own good.”  
Keith mumbled something incoherent and rolled over, burying his face into his sweet, sweet pillow.  
“Did you throw up? Be honest.”  
“Yes,” came the muffled response. He dug his head deeper into the fabric.  
“Every time,” Pidge said, disappointment dripping from their tone while they shook their head. “Whatever. Get some sleep, you’ve got work tomorrow morning.”  
“Don’t remind me.”

And that’s where Keith found himself five hours later, standing behind a granite green counter with a bottle of whipped cream in one hand and a raging headache pulsing through his temples. He’d woken up that morning in a pool of his own sweat, yet shivers rattled his spine. This hangover was probably the worst he’s had in a year, but that wasn’t going to stop him from fulfilling his obligations, no matter how painful it may be. He’s nothing if not determined.  
The pungent scent of coffee beans struck his senses like a truck. He wrinkled his nose as he clocked in, all too familiar with the coffee shop atmosphere mixed with the old dust settling on books in the library that nobody checked out. It was 6AM on a Sunday, so most of the students were still getting heavenly sleep in their beds. The fact that he had an eight hour shift with only two coworkers to keep him company made his eyes roll to the back of his head.  
“Good morning, Keith!”  
Keith winced at the sharp, heavily accented voice of Coran coming from the back. “Good morning.” He avoided eye contact as much as possible, all too aware of the dark, heavy bags settling under his eyes. Little black tendrils curled out from under his beanie- without it, it would be obvious that he didn’t have time to shower. Coran didn’t seem to notice, however.  
“Ready for a relaxing day?” With a demeanor as chipper as his, it didn’t seem like Coran knew the feeling of being tired. Keith’s boss balanced himself on the counter with his elbow while Keith continued to open the shop. It was an inane procedure, one that Keith went through more than a dozen times, so his body was essentially on auto-pilot. “Sure.”  
“How was your weekend?”  
Keith’s eyebrow twitched. The last thing he wanted was to even think about it. The possibilities of what Shiro, Matt, and Lance could have been talking about just before he left kept him up for another torturous hour. “Uneventful.”  
“Did ya go see Rent?”  
Keith sighed quietly while he organized the cups and their lids. “Yep.”  
“How was it? I wish I could’ve gone, but you know the grind.” Coran chuckled to himself at the coffee pun. Keith let out a tired and obligatory “ha.”  
“It was good,” he said simply, not caring enough to explain. Coran seemed to notice that Keith was Not In The Mood and returned to the back of the shop.  
The rest of his shift wasn’t too bad. The morning rush started at eight, but it only consisted of about twenty or so people. Keith counted his lucky stars that he wasn’t there on a Monday. Things were going relatively smoothly, until-  
“Hey, Keith!”  
Low and behold, Lance, as energetic as ever, just appeared in front of the counter.Keith froze. His coworker on the register turned back to look at him, expecting him to take Lance’s order. With an inaudible sigh, Keith dragged himself to the front and logged into the register. “Hey, Lance.”  
“You look like hell,” Lance commented, cocking a brow. “Rough night?”  
“You could say that.” Keith wanted this conversation to be over as soon as possible. With his luck, Lance would give him some ridiculous order that would take more than five minutes to make, something that Keith simply did not have the capacity for at the moment. He seemed the type.  
“Well, I had fun.” Lance still wore that stupidly charming smile on his face. Keith forced one.  
“Glad to hear it. Can I take your order?”  
“What’s the rush?” Lance threw a glance behind his shoulder. “There’s no line.” A hint of color began to pepper Lance’s cheeks, but Keith couldn’t imagine why. He planted his elbows on the counter and looked up at him, watching the color on Lance’s face deepen. He seemed unusually nervous today, way out of character compared to last night.  
“I guess,” Keith responded hastily. “What’s up?”_ Please, God, say it’s not Matt._ The haunting image of the three of them huddled around the frat’s kitchen counter bloomed in Keith’s mind. Were they flirting? No, Shiro was there and Lance was most definitely straight, despite the stereotypical theatre background. Were they talking about Keith? That seemed much more likely. Keith’s pounding headache only seemed to worsen the more he wrestled with the thought of it.  
“I made you a coffee.” Lance revealed a cup in his hand, light brown and enticing.  
Keith, however, raised an eyebrow. “Lance, I work in a coffee shop.”  
“Right. Not my best idea.” He set down the cup on the counter, pulling his lip between his teeth. For a moment, Keith was unable to take his eyes off him, but he soon snapped to his senses and looked down at the cup. “That’s awfully nice of you.”  
“Yeah.” Lance brushed it off entirely. “So, listen- did I say or do anything especially embarrassing last night?”  
“Other than making fun of me?”  
Lance winced. “Yeah, I did do that, didn’t I?”  
Keith gave him a strained smile.  
“Other than that, though? Did I cross any boundaries? Say anything especially terrible?”  
Keith straightened up and crossed his arms. “You don’t remember anything, do you?”  
Regrettably, Lance shook his head.  
“And that’s why you’re here.”  
“Well, I also wanted coffee,” Lance countered, but Keith was already on his tail.  
“Lance, if you can make coffee in The Zig, why would you come out here to buy some?”  
“Sheesh,” Lance muttered, tucking his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “Maybe I just wanted to talk to you." Keith’s eyes widened slightly, confusion written all over his face. It didn’t seem like he made that good of an impression last night, given the amount of opportunities he gave Lance to roast him. “Or, yanno, get actually good coffee.” He gestured to the cup on the counter. “This is kind of shit.”  
Keith took one sip of it and immediately wanted to spit it out. He didn’t, though, because despite the raging hangover he still had some self control. “Yeah, it kind of is.” He took the cup and turned around to dump it in the sink, and to his surprise, Lance didn’t protest. Keith looked at him over his shoulder and asked, “What can I get you?”  
Lance looked a bit taken aback, lips pursed in thought. “Caramel frappuccino?”  
Keith grunted in a laugh. “In this weather?”  
“Taste has no temperature.”  
“I beg to differ,” Keith said, but relented and started on the frap. “Espresso shots?”  
“Two, please.”  
It didn’t take him long to mix the milk, sugar, and syrup before setting it confidently on the counter. If there’s anything Keith knows inside out, it’s coffee. And Shakespeare.  
Lance took a sip and immediately let out a noise between a moan and a squeal, if that was possible. “This is so good.”  
Keith grinned. “I know.”  
Lance wrapped his fingers around the cup and took another sip, eyes fluttering closed. “You’re a magician, I’m convinced.”  
“Nope, just skilled.”  
“How much do I owe you?”  
“On the house.”  
Lance looked genuinely surprised. “Are you sure?”  
Keith nodded with a little smile, turning to put away the ingredients.  
“Well,” Lance said, “I got what I came here for. Catch ya later, Keith.”  
He watched as Lance walked out of the library, the little smile still lingering in spite of himself.

The rest of Keith’s shift was horribly uneventful. He caught himself falling asleep standing up a few times, snapped out of it by the sound of Coran’s piercing voice. Thankfully 1PM rolled around more quickly than usual, despite the lack of customers, which normally made time drag on and on. Keith returned to his dorm, stripped himself of his work clothes, and slept for God knows how long. By the time Pidge got home, the sun was in the process of falling from the sky.

“Put on a shirt,” Pidge said as Keith pulled himself up on the bed. His beanie was halfway off of his head since he forgot to take it off before collapsing in exhaustion. He looked like a messy wolverine.  
“I need to shower,” he mumbled miserably. “I don’t wanna.”  
Pidge ignored his lack of hygiene. “How was work?”  
“Not exciting,” Keith said, “but Lance visited me.”  
“Lance did?”  
Keith rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, that’s what I said.”  
Pidge took a seat at their desk with a light thud and set their backpack down. “You know, I talked to him at the party.”  
“Yeah, I think he mentioned that last night,” Keith said. “What happened? He seemed pretty pissed.”  
“He doesn’t want to hear the truth.”  
“Which is?”  
Pidge gave him a shit-eating grin. “Not my place to tell you.”  
Keith groaned, falling back onto the bed. “Why does everyone act like there’s some big secret between us?”  
“Did he say anything to you last night?”  
Keith’s mouth twitched. “Not really. He just made fun of me. He also asked me out to lunch, but he was too fucked up, so I didn’t really take him seriously, and he didn’t mention it today.”  
“Oh, my God,” Pidge jumped up from their desk and over to Keith’s bed. “Keith, you have to go.”  
“Why?” He scrunched up his nose. “He doesn’t remember. We’re not really friends.”  
“Because,” Pidge began, the way they always do when they’re about to say something Keith doesn’t want to hear, “and I know you’re not gonna want to hear this, but you need to get over Matt.”  
“What does that have to do with any of this?”  
Pidge pinched the bridge of their nose. “Are you serious? Lance literally asked you out.”  
Keith rolled onto his side, tucking his arm beneath his chin. “He’s straight, Pidge. I can tell.”  
“You have the gaydar of a VSCO girl.”  
“Shut up.”  
“Just text him,” Pidge insisted. “He gave you his number, right?”  
Keith rolled onto his other side, definitely not wanting to have this conversation at the moment. “Yeah.”  
“So text him.”  
Now that Keith’s headache had fizzled out after that glorious nap, he was able to think more clearly about the night before. It was hard enough to recount the events that went down, let alone put them in order. First, he was drinking wine with Pidge. Then shots. Then smoking. Then? Some conversation went down with Lance, but Keith can distinctly remember two things: 1) quoting Rumi like an idiotic nerd and 2) Lance asking him out to lunch. Keith was far too gone to seriously consider the lunch date; after all, they had only just met that night, though apparently Lance knew more about Keith than he was letting on. So much so that Hunk knew about it. So, either Hunk and Lance were super close already, or Lance was just a frivolous person with fleeting feelings. Keith was betting on the latter.  
“I’m not gonna text him,” he replied, an edge in his voice.  
“Fine.” With one fell swoop, Pidge snatched Keith’s phone from his desk, and considering that Pidge knew Keith’s passcode, he found himself in a very dangerous situation.  
“Pidge!” Keith jumped up from his bed, desperately flailing for the phone. “I swear to everything I love, give that back-”  
“Here.” Pidge handed the phone back to Keith, the screen displaying an empty text conversation with _Angel <3._ “Hey, did you actually want to get lunch sometime?” was typed in the message box. “Now, all you have to do is press send. Keith, it’s gonna be really good for you to get out more.”  
Keith huffed, staring down at the screen. “Big talk coming from you.”  
“I was just a sound tech for the biggest production of the school, mind you. I’m putting myself out plenty.”  
Keith didn’t want to admit that they were right. What did he have to lose? He and Lance weren’t exactly friends anyway, and the worst that could happen is being shot down, which Keith had a lot of experience in. Besides, fuck it had been his attitude as of late. With a deep breath and shaky fingers, Keith hit _Send_.


	4. from the pretty boy front man, who wasted opportunity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Shit,” Lance muttered, “I’m already double texting.”  
“It’s not that serious.”  
Lance let out an annoyed groan. “But it is, Hunk! It makes me sound desperate, and I know that from experience.”  
“Keith will not pick up on that, I can promise you.”  
“Yeah, because he doesn’t seem like the type to double text.”  
Hunk sighed and swiveled his chair around to face him. “No, because he’s clueless.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's a little short but to summarize lance is an idiot

Lance took a sip of his kale smoothie and immediately wanted to vomit. 

He’d been on this health kick recently, where he did everything fitness YouTubers told him _ except _going to the gym. Maybe once or twice a week he’d do calisthenics in his room- in which Hunk would heavily criticize his form- but physical activity was just not on the to-do list, and he was a very busy man. Between classes, rehearsals, and Phi Delta Alpha commitments, it was very difficult to fit in time to watch anime, which was crucial to his sleep routine, let alone have time for anything else. 

Lance was wincing as his drank his smoothie when Hunk walked into the kitchen and shot him an odd look. “Didn’t you already have coffee today?”

“I had a frappuccino, Hunk. I’d hardly count that as coffee.” 

Hunk shrugged and put his backpack down on the island before opening the fridge and inspecting whatever vegetables Lance had left behind. Not many, but Hunk could make do. “Stir fry tonight?” If there was anything Hunk was good at, it’d be cooking. And football. And academia.

“_ Please. _” Lance exhaled loudly and pushed the smoothie away from himself. “I saw Keith today.”

“Oh, yeah?” Hunk turned around from the fridge, suddenly intrigued. “At work?”

“Yep.” 

“Still got that crush?”

Lance sighed and brought himself to his feet, leaning over the counter. “Maybe. I don’t have time for anything serious, but I _ do _want to get laid.” 

Hunk hissed through his teeth. “Keith is not your guy for that.” 

“Why not?”

“Dude’s got issues.”

This certainly piqued Lance’s interest. Judging by his romantic history, people with a lot of baggage seemed to be his type. It wasn’t as though he was trying to fix them, rather, if you went deep into his psyche you’d find that Lance was using them to fix himself. Lance realized this a while ago, but shoved it into an untouched corner of his brain and left it there ever since. He cradled his cheek in his hand. “What kind of issues?” 

“I don’t know if it’s my place to say,” Hunk began, looking a bit guilty, “I’ll just say that he used to date Matt, and it ended badly.” 

“Matt, like, the guy at the party Matt?” Lance tried his best to recall the memory, but that entire night when by in a big blur. He couldn’t place the sequence of events in their proper order, but he did remember little bits. Like when Keith quoted Rumi, or whatever that poet was called. 

“Shiro’s roommate,” Hunk supplied.

“Oh, shit.” Lance’s eyes widened. “Keith dated his brother’s roommate _ and _his roommate’s brother?”

“Mhmm. Before they were all roommates, though. They were together for maybe, like, a year and a half?”

“So, it was a little serious.” As if Lance had any authority on the matter. He couldn’t make a relationship last for more than three months, let alone an entire year. 

Hunk shut the fridge after grabbing a few vegetables and two chicken breasts. “Yeah, Keith didn’t take it well. Kind of went through a hoe phase.”

“A hoe phase?”

“I said too much.” 

Lance jumped up from his leaned position and rushed over to Hunk, planting both hands on his shoulder. “No, no, you can’t leave me hanging like that! I wanna know.”

Hunk shook him off with a dissatisfied frown. “No, Lance! I’m not letting you dig into his business like that.”

“You kind of already did.”

“Fuck.” Hunk elbowed Lance out the way before grabbing a kitchen knife that looked more like a hunting knife. Lance knew that Hunk wouldn’t hurt a fly, but that knife said otherwise, so he backed up a bit. Hunk continued, “I’m not telling you anything else. If you’re curious, ask him yourself.”

“I don’t even know him, Hunk.”

“Exactly. So stay out of it.” 

Lance let out a tired groan and took a seat back at the island, laying his head down on his hands. “I just wanna get laaaid.” 

Hunk huffed. “Find someone else.”

“But Keith is gorgeous! Like, he’s everything I could ever want. Dark eyes, curly hair, _ incredible _physique...” 

To this, Hunk turned around and pointed the knife at Lance, giving him the _ I’m not fucking around _ look, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed. “I swear to God, Lance, if you end up hurting him in the slightest _ , _ I’ll never speak to you again. He’s a really good friend of mine and I will not allow you to pull him into your bullshit.” 

Lance threw his hands up in defense. “Okay, okay, fine! I won’t go near him.” 

“Good.” 

Lance let out something between a sigh and whine, laying his head back down on his hands. He wondered what constituted a “hoe phase.” He assumed that just mean Keith hooked up with a bunch of people to cope with the breakup, which Lance can empathize with, though not to that extent. Lance had baggage, but having sex with people didn’t mean much to him if he knew the terms upfront. He couldn’t imagine Keith hooking up with people, but he also couldn’t imagine that it would be hard for Keith to find people to hook up with. Even though he was a bit socially awkward, that was nothing compared to how pretty he was. 

Why was Lance thinking so in depth about this? Why did he care? It was a silly attraction, no more, no less. That, and he promised Hunk he wouldn’t touch the subject again. Never speaking to Hunk again was a fate worse than death. 

So, he’d leave it alone. Or so he thought.

Lance was just minding his business in his room while playing his Nintendo Switch when his phone buzzed beside him. 

_ Unknown Number (6:34PM): _Hey, did you actually want to get lunch sometime?

Lance scrunched his nose at the message. Who actually texted with proper grammar? Didn’t that defeat the whole purpose? Confused, he grabbed his phone and swung his lanky legs from off of the bed before heading to Hunk’s room. “Do you know who this is?”

Hunk, who was hunkered over his desk probably finishing some astrophysicist homework Lance couldn’t begin to understand, blinked slowly and squinted at the phone. His eyes widened in realization. “That’s Keith’s number.” 

His expression quickly shifted to a silent anger when he saw Lance grinning. “Lance, no. Don’t do it.” 

“Relax, it’s just lunch. Plus, _ he _ asked _ me. _ It would be rude to decline!” Lance was really pushing it with this one. As fate would have it, it seemed Keith was just falling into his lap. Not that he had any bad intentions, obviously, but it worked out in his favor. “Still, I’m kinda confused. Did I ever ask him to get lunch?”

Hunk shot him a look. “You’re asking the wrong person.” 

Shrugging, Lance invited himself to take a seat on Hunk’s bed.

_ Me (6:39PM): _is this keith? poetry boy keith? 

_ Unknown Number (6:40PM): _Yeah, I guess that’s me. 

Lance blinked at his phone in surprise. He didn’t expect him to respond so quickly. Usually, with text politics, it took whoever Lance was interested in at least six business hours to respond. He was pleasantly surprised. “Should I wait to text him back?”

“Don’t get started on your stupid ‘text politics’ or whatever.” 

“Fine,” Lance relented, leaning back on the bed. 

_ Me (6:42PM): _i’m down

_ Me (6:42PM): _did i ask you to get lunch before?

“Shit,” Lance muttered, “I’m already double texting.” 

“It’s not that serious.” 

Lance let out an annoyed groan. “But it is, Hunk! It makes me sound desperate, and I know that from experience.” 

“Keith will not pick up on that, I can promise you.” 

“Yeah, because he doesn’t seem like the type to double text.”

Hunk sighed and swiveled his chair around to face him. “No, because he’s clueless.” 

He sure hoped that was the case. Far too often did Lance get too eager and double, triple, quadruple texted someone who he thought they’d be cool with, only to find out that he came off as super desperate. Which, in retrospect, was something he definitely should have picked up on. But that was just the way he was- why use commas and periods when breaking up texts made much more sense? He wasn’t writing a research paper, he didn’t think too far into it. That being said, Lance didn’t get the vibe that it would bother Keith that much, yet. Still, he had to demonstrate some self control, even if he did just want a hookup. Which he didn’t, now. Now, he was just curious. Hunk cared a lot about Keith, and all of their mutual friends cared a lot about Keith, so Lance wanted to see what all that was about. Sure, he could take some fashion cues, but Lance was willing to overlook that (to an extent- nothing that can’t be fixed). 

Lance frowned at the lack of notifications on his phone. Maybe Keith was well-versed in text politics, but that seemed unlikely. He was just about to lay down on Hunk’s bed when one of his frat brothers called up to them.

“Hey!” David yelled, “We’re about to play Smash Bros!” 

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Hunk said, finally setting his pen down and standing up to stretch his legs. Lance shot him a concerned glance. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be doing astro-whatever?”

“You take, like, a million breaks when you do your homework. Let me have one.”

Lance shrugged. “Fair enough.” 

Three and half rounds later and Lance still didn’t receive a text from Keith. He had to stop himself from pouting in front of his other brothers, as if they weren’t used to it yet. 

“No text from Keith?” Hunk seemed to have read his mind.

“Nope.”

“Don’t overthink it too much.” Hunk leaned back on the couch and tucked his arms behind his head. “He’s a super busy guy. English Literature majors are no joke.”

Lance scrunched up his face. “What, like hypothesizing that Emily Dickinson is lesbian is hard work?” 

“The same could be said about you frolicking around on stage all day. Also, that joke’s been done before.”

Lance was just about to bite back a retort when David interjected, “Oo, does Lance have a new boy toy?”

“No,” Lance answered miserably. “Apparently not.” 

David, all of a sudden curious, peered over Lance’s shoulder to look at his phone. “Why did you ask if you had asked him to lunch before?”

“Because I don’t remember if I did or not.” Lance seemed to have missed the whole point. “I guess I must have at the cast party, but I was _ soo _far gone.” 

David flicked Lance in the forehead, earning him a high-pitched “Ow!” 

“Lance, you don’t admit that to him! That’s why he hasn’t texted you back, moron,” David said. “You basically said that it means nothing to you.”

“I agree,” Hunk said, but seemed entirely uninterested in the conversation and instead had his eyes trained on and Smash Bros brawl between him and another frat brother, Isaac, who was not listening in the slightest. 

Lance groaned and threw his head back against the couch. “Wish one of you would have told me that before I sent it.” 

“What are we, your babysitters? Life coaches?” David cocked a brow.

“I agree,” Hunk said again, right before he landed a KO on Isaac.

Pulling his head back off the couch, Lance narrowed his eyes at his phone and bit the inside of his cheek before looking at David for guidance. “So, what do I do now?”

“Figure it out,” was the simple answer. 

“You guys are useless,” Lance muttered before getting up and sulking back to his room. He spent the next ten minutes listlessly staring at the text conversation, contemplating whether or not he should text him again. If he did, he might be able to salvage the situation and win over Keith, in which he could successfully make lunch plans with a gorgeous boy. Keith’s dark eyes glowed in the light of the moon that night, and they had Lance completely enraptured. The way his hair curled up against his neck invited him to run his fingers through it, thumbs trailing his jaw. There are few things Lance wouldn’t give to have that opportunity.

On the other hand, he could come off as needy, as he often did. He was far too used to being ghosted that way, and he had no idea what he’d do if that were the case. Would Hunk have to decide who he wanted to hang out with separately? Maybe he’s already done that, but Lance wouldn’t want to be at fault for putting him in that situation. That, and he’d lose his chance with Keith altogether, which, in turn, could sacrifice his relationship with Hunk’s other close friends, and he really didn’t want to give that up. 

But Lance, being as impulsive and determined as he is, decided to go with the former.

_ Me (9:22PM): _hey look i’m sorry i know that was insensitive of me and i wanna make it up to u. when are u free? 

**Author's Note:**

> i hope whoever finds this likes it!! i don't really have anything to promote but my tumblr is @bitterdrake if you like aesthetic posts/weirdly relatable feminist content? anyways that's about all i have to say enjoy


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